Does the Sun Always Rise in the East?
by The Lady Fair
Summary: Two people seek solace in a bottle and one another on Halloween night. But the stolen moments together were never meant to last. SS/HG; one-shot


**.**

 **Does the Sun Always Rise in the East?**

 **.**

One of them was in the bar first. But by the time Rosmerta tossed him her last bottle of Ogdens and warded them in, Severus couldn't quite remember which of them it had been. Probably him, he reasoned as well as someone as over-liquored as he was could reason, since it was highly unlikely he would have chosen this seat if she was already next to it.

She was spinning a ring on the table, her expression far too sober for his liking. So he topped off their shot glasses and slapped a hand over the plain, platinum band, trapping it against the worn wooden countertop. It dug into his palm uncomfortably.

"Here's to idiots," he growled, raising his shot and waiting for her to mimic his motions.

"To Ronald," she agreed.

They tipped the shots back as one, him gulping it down in one hot swallow while she sipped hers doggedly until there was only a drop left on the rim. Darting her pink tongue out to catch it, she leaned across him and grabbed the bottle.

"Here's to pretty, clueless women," she said, sloshing the liquor as she poured.

Her words were as effective as a sober up and he scowled. But she held her glass up, her watery eyes trying to focus on what he was sure was multiple versions of himself, and he clinked his against hers.

"To Lily," he murmured.

After that the bottle went down much too fast and simultaneously not fast enough. As his companion began to sway on her stool, an unconscious effort to make the room stop spinning, he ditched the shot glass and began taking long, burning drags from the bottle. It wasn't fair that she was so much further gone than he was.

Only once he was on the same level as her, holding onto the edge of the bar with one white-knuckled hand to keep from sliding out of his stool, did he summon a new bottle–this one not quite as fine a vintage–from Rosmerta's stores. Holding the bottle in one hand, he grabbed the witch around the waist with other and slowly, slowly they slipped to the floor. He kicked the stools out of the way so they could comfortably lean against the cool wood of the bar, their legs extended and bumping together in their drunkenness.

"Tha's better," she mumbled. "Less spinny."

He chuckled and laid his head back. "How el-eloquit-eloquee… I agree."

Giggling, she snagged the bottle from his hand and took a small drag. When she made to put the bottle down he tipped it back up with his finger.

"More," he recommended.

She gulped furiously and he let the bottle drop after several moments. Flushed and grinning, she wriggled and tilted her body until she was straddling his legs. With utmost care–which he appreciated, his nose was a rather large target and she was rather wobbly–she lifted the bottle to his lips.

"Drink," she encouraged.

And drink he did. She counted his gulps and he followed the movement of her lips with half-lidded eyes. When she was satisfied he'd had enough, she pulled the bottle away and set it on the ground beside them.

"I'm not clueless," she said quietly.

He gulped. His Adam's apple bobbed. He glanced at her lips again.

"And I am no idiot."

She smiled then and it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Those eyes that were always so focused, so intelligent, were glassed over with alcohol. And her cheeks wore a splotchy blush. But her happiness lit up her entire face and he knew–he knew–it was a gift meant entirely for him. He offered her a crooked grin in return and watched her pupils dilate. Fascinating.

"You have a–" she gestured to his mouth. "A drop."

Raising a hand to wipe it away, he was surprised when she stopped him. She cradled it in one of her own and pulled it away.

"I'll get it."

Planting a hand on the bar behind him, she leaned closer. Her breath puffed against his mouth moments before her lips claimed his. Keeping his eyes wide, he watched hers flutter closed as she licked his lower lip. When she sighed, he couldn't help but chase her tongue back into her mouth with his own. He couldn't help but kiss her.

It was wrong.

She was wrong.

But tonight, fueled by mutual despair and copious amounts of liquid courage, it felt so damn right.

Time passed and the second bottle disappeared alongside stolen kisses and groping that was a little too forward and not hardly sweet enough. Neither of them cared, though, as they continued to touch and nibble and lick their way around every inch of exposed flesh available to them. It wasn't much–being Halloween in Scotland they were both covered from neck to toe–but they each managed to find new territory to explore in between long drags from the bottle.

When, finally, the clock tolled the end of their torturous day, she pulled away from his embrace. The empty bottle lay discarded amidst toppled stools and their wands were out of reach. Rolling off his lap, she snuggled up to his side. He draped an arm around her shoulders and leaned his head against the pillow of her curls.

"Severus?"

He blinked. Tried to focus on her words. "Yes?"

"D'ya think things will go back to normal in the morning?" she asked, her voice muffled by his frock coat.

He pursed his lips to hold in a wistful sigh. "Does the sun always rise in the East, Hermione?"

"Hmmm." The sound she made was unhappy agreement. She paused for a few moments, her warm breath seeping through his layers to warm a spot on his chest before she mumbled, "Normal, without idiots."

He blinked, suddenly teary. "And without clueless witches."

There was no way to be sure. He was practically numb from consumption and she was a little too slack in his arms, but he thought he felt her press a kiss to his chest, right above his heart, before she sighed.

"And without us."

Yes, he thought sadly. With the morning would come sober judgement and, with any luck, a black hole where their night should have been. And they would no longer be two people seeking solace in one another, but two strangers passing in the halls of a castle they had haunted for far too many years. He pulled her more tightly against him.

"Without us," he agreed.

* * *

 _ **Thank you for reading. I had a beer tonight, which is fairly rare for me and always puts me in a wonderfully melancholy mood. This is the result. I hope you enjoyed it.**_

 _ **Blessings.**_


End file.
